There was this old man, well not old
about fifty I guess
We were drinking tall cans of Old English
in the front yard

We both rented rooms in the house behind us
It was monsoon season and dusk—it was very still
Not even the air was moving
Sometimes a car passed by
Some had their headlights on

I kept making the short walk to the corner
for more tall cans
I was down, I just couldn't get drunk
Neither could the old man
I told him "I'm down, Mike"
He said "Me too"

Mike was in a blue wheelchair
no legs past the thigh
I told him his wheelchair was blue
and they all should be
He agreed, and we kept talking quietly

He told me how he lost his legs
Meth and a red light
I told him how I lost my son
Murder and tears
He told me we were both handicapped

When he asked if I hung out with the same friends
I told him no
He said you can't—not after you're handicapped
I agreed, and we kept talking quietly

Next day I didn't really want
to go home anyway so
when I heard the shot
I just kept walking